Tessellation
by Leslie N
Summary: multipart. haruhihostclub. Ch6. Patterns. The twins enticed in the darkness, Tamaki charmed with fairy lights; and Mori and Hunny seduced in torchlight. It would be Kyouya’s turn.
1. The Heptagon

Disclaimer

: _Bisco Hatori owns most (). Leslie owns little (PLOTPLOTPLOT!) _

**Warning**: _Polyamory. In other words, Haruhi doesn't get all the fun._

_But I confess, she gets most of it. (I blame it on my fangirl tendencies. If I was a fictional character, I would totally be in Ouran High screaming 'MOE!')_

_The_ **rating** _is T, PG-13_.

* * *

**TESSELLATION **

_**1 of ?**_

**Chapter One **

**The Heptagon**

* * *

A regular heptagon has seven sides, seven corners and fourteen diagonals.

It has two common names. Heptagon. Septagon.

Of the many polygons, it is lesser known. It is an anomaly. It is an enigma.

This, Fujioka Haruhi knows too well.

"Haruhi-kun…" Inoue Eri from class 1-C pouts, dangling a mechanical pencil from one elegant hand and a ruler in another. "I simply can't do this!" she wails. "You must help me…"

Fujioka Haruhi. Homework helper. This is one of the latest initiatives from Ootori Kyouya. Love-love with tea and cake AND a practical outcome. It is sheer utter brilliance, guaranteed monetary return.

Kyouya preens. Haruhi refuses. Kyouya offers a two-for-one deal. Every payment made by customers counts for double in the account of Haruhi's debt. He hides a smirks as Haruhi ponders over the proposal.

Eventually, Haruhi accepts.

Kyouya's glasses glint. "Very well," he murmurs, tapping away furiously in his laptop. When Haruhi turns away, Kyouya allows himself a grin.

* * *

On the introductory day for this new program, the line is seemingly endless. There's even a waiting list that extends to the next week.

"Haruhi-kun…" Inoue Eri whines again.

Haruhi blinks to attention. "Yes, Inoue-san?"

"I can't draw this." Eri gestures to her piles of discarded paper. "It looks all wrong!"

Eri's heptagon is really an octagon with hexagonal tendencies. Haruhi hastens to help, demonstrating the proper technique. "You draw a circle first… with angle of separation five-pi-on-seven…"

_The heptagon is really a most ridiculous shape_, Haruhi reflects, watching Eri tackle the protractor. The other girl's eyes squint in the attempt to determine the location of five-pi-on-seven. "It's hard to estimate," the girl says breathlessly.

"It's approximately 128.5 degrees," Haruhi supplies.

Nearby, Haninozuka Mitsukuni works through eating a mountain of cake. Morinozuka Takashi watches. Occasionally, the calm is broken by feminine squeals when a stray crumb lingers on Hunny's face (Mori wipes it off) or when Usa-chan gets dirty (Mori makes it all better).

A little further away, in the corner near the rose arbor, Hitachiin Kaoru lies sobbing in his brother, Hikaru's arms. The observing girls close dab handkerchiefs to their eyes, crying copiously as the theatrical tale draws to a close.

"I would do anything to prove my love to you, Kaoru!" Hikaru proclaims, amidst loud sniffles from their teary audience.

"I know that, Hikaru… but…" Kaoru's breath is short, his cheeks are pink. "My heart pounds in fear at the thought of the danger you will face!"

The twins draw closer (if possible), as the background music swells. Hikaru rests his forehead against Kaoru and cradles him close. "I know," he breathes. A tear from Hikaru's eye drips to Kaoru's cheek.

"MOEEEEEEEE!" The fangirls are overwhelmed.

Meanwhile, by the window, Suou Tamaki embraces a second year girl. She gazes into his eyes, enraptured. "Suou-kun," she sighs. "Why are our times together always so short?"

"Love," Tamaki intones, in a most impressive and Princely voice, "makes time fly and fade away. It is only in reflection that we can see the greatness of these times we share. It is the times apart, Princess," he gazes back into her eyes, intangible flowers blossoming into full bloom around him; "that makes our time together even more beautiful in comparison…"

The girl melts into his arms.

Back at the table, Eri has finished constructing her heptagon. Ecstatic, she squeals. "Look, Haruhi-kun, LOOK!"

Haruhi smiles encouragingly. "That's a very exact heptagon, Eri-san," she praises.

Eri gazes at Haruhi with starry eyes. "I couldn't have done it without you," she sighs. "Thank you so much, Haruhi-kun, I—"

However, Eri clearly holds all symptoms to the most dangerous illness of all: Wanting-Physical-Contact-itus (also known as the Love-Love-Haruhi disease). While Haruhi does not recognise the signs (or the terminology), someone else has.

Kyouya steps in, notebook in hand. His glasses glint. "Apologies, Eri-san," he murmurs with a small bow. "Your time is up."

Immediately, Eri wilts.

"Best luck with your constructions, Eri-san," Haruhi cuts in hurriedly, her voice warm. She casts a strange look at Kyouya. By her – accurate —calculations, Eri has forty-seven seconds left. "I look forward to seeing you again!"

Eri is instantaneously replaced by Hatano Ayame of Class 1-D. The moment Ayame glances up at Haruhi, she almost immediately ducks her head down again. "Haruhi-kun," she greets shyly.

"What would you like help with today, Ayame-san?" Haruhi asks, pouring out a cup of tea for the new customer.

"In Chemistry, we are working with acids and bases…" Ayame begins.

Haruhi notices that Eri has left behind her sheet of how-to for constructing heptagons. As Ayame babbles, Haruhi finds her mind wandering, strangely drawn to the imperfect shape of the polygon. It has dihedral symmetry, she knows

(_Formulas immediately jump to mind_)

but more importantly, it does not occur in nature. Which should mean that it should be impossible, Haruhi concludes.

A sudden flash of pain jolts Haruhi from her reverie. She acts on instinct, but in a mere instant later, she finds the left leg of her trousers wet. The remains of Ayame's cup is shattered on the floor.

It cracked on the table. It smashed on the floor. Haruhi vaguely recalls she tried to intercept the fall somewhere in between.

Ayame is in hysterics.

"Ayame-san," Haruhi tries to comfort her. She pats the girl's shoulder awkwardly. "Don't be upset. It's just a cup…" And then she sees the red smears on Ayame's uniform, right where she has just touched.

She feels Hikaru and Kaoru first. They latch to her either side.

"Haruhi, you're bleeding," they chorus in unison.

Tamaki holds her wounded hand. Hunny plops Usa-chan on her lap. Mori is sweeping up the porcelain shards. Kyouya is barking orders on the phone, presumably speaking to the school nurse. Tamaki has her hand swaddled in table-cloth. He brings Haruhi's hand to his lips and brushes a kiss across her fingers wordlessly.

When moments later, the nurse bursts in armed with her first-aid kit, the room is tautly silent.

The cut on Haruhi's index finger, from her attempt to catch the broken cup, is not shallow. However, it does not need stitches. When the antiseptic is applied, Haruhi hisses out a breath. The twins press closer to her. Usa-chan is gripped very tightly in her free arm.

"Will Haru-chan be all right?" Hunny asks worriedly.

Haruhi's finger is bound up tightly. "It is just a cut," the nurse says. Her voice is irritated. "And a small cut, too" she emphasises.

The nurse packs up her kit in a huffy fit. She cannot believe she was dragged down like this for such a trivial matter.

Slowly and reluctantly, the members of the Host Club disperse back to their duties. At last, only Tamaki remains.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Positive."

"Honestly?"

"Really."

Tamaki's eyes narrow ever so slightly, but then in a split second, he is grinning and buoyant again. "Don't scare Daddy like that!" he scolds her. "For a moment there, I thought my daughter would be without a finger for the rest of her life!"

Haruhi just looks at him.

Wounded by the fact that she isn't moved by his high order concern, Tamaki disappears to a corner and sulks.

Kyouya has cancelled the rest of Haruhi's appointments for the day. She is left alone by the table, staring at the how-to sheet for constructing heptagons.

Resting her chin on the table, she sighs. _It really isn't normal_, she thinks to herself. _The heptagon_.

* * *

Haruhi understands

(_she will say nothing_)

that the small wound was not the issue at hand.

Any excuse would have sufficed.

Any excuse at all.

* * *

**AN**:

_When I write is directly proportional to how inspired I feel. I am inspired by many things, but in relation to fanfic, reviews are good. :)_

_I don't write for reviews, quantity-wise. To be honest, numbers are appealing to me, but it appeals to me less than a review which genuinely reflect interest in the development of the story. (But by all means, a one-liner is gratifying, in that a reader actually bothered. :p) _

_To cut a long rant short, if you like what you've read of this story and would like to see it continue, review! Criticism (con-crit or not) is always welcome. _

_To confirm, 'Tessellation' is a Haruhi/Host Club story. I've never actually written anything this quirky before, so it is very experimental. _

_Till next time!_


	2. Diagonals

**Disclaimer**: _Bisco Hatori owns the characterisation, setting… and the MOE! (and Leslie really wants the MOE! but want ain't getting her nowhere) :(_

**Warning**: _Polyamory, but really, Haruhi/HostClub, with a little boy-boy love in the subtext. Haruhi isn't supposed to get all the fun… but, ah… she is. _

**Credits go to**: _Lindt Sprugli for the chocolate names. Wikipedia for the mathematical information. I'm actually not genius, unfortunately. If I do this out of my own knowledge, the heptagon would have vertices (it actually did have vertices before my last edit. Only polyhedrons are meant to have vertices, so I discovered later…) and five diagonals per corner. I know. Maths isn't my strong point. :p _

* * *

**TESSELLATION **

_2 of ?_

**Chapter Two **

**Diagonals**

* * *

Haninozuka Mitsukuni is the last. But when he falls, he tells no one at all. Not even Morinozuka Takashi.

A regular heptagon has seven sides, seven corners and fourteen diagonals. A diagonal is a line segment joining two nonadjacent sides of a polygon.

If Fujioka Haruhi was a side, Morinozuka Takashi would be to her left, and Hitachiin Kaoru would be to her right.

The angle of separation would be five-pi-on-seven, almost one-hundred-and-twenty-nine degrees.

Mitsukuni felt the strain of each and every degree and minute.

Every day, Hunny would shovel sweet, sweet cake in his mouth, and his face crinkles into an expression of sated bliss. He likes to think, in reminisce, that he loses himself while he devours the cake. But Mitsukuni knows better.

He is honed by years of training. He is always aware. He knows there are times when Takashi looks away from him. He knows that there are times when Takashi looks towards her.

Fujioka Haruhi.

There is devotion, and then, there is devotion. Takashi's devotion to Mitsukuni is derived from tradition and heritage. He is obliged to serve, and while he does serve well, the distance still remains

(_constant_).

The connection between Takashi and Haruhi, on the other hand is free from all obligation. There is nothing to tie them together, but Takashi is still bound. There is no reason; there is no cause; but the bond between Haruhi and Takashi may as well be penned down in thick marker.

In a heptagon, the angle of separation between each side is five-pi-on-seven. One hundred and twenty nine degrees.

In the case of Haruhi and Mori, it is too close. Otherwise, it is too far.

* * *

Haruhi likes to look at Mori, and she doesn't know why.

His is a face full of planes and angles. His jaw is triangular. His forehead is square. His eyes are always distant, but it is an introverted distance. His gaze is usually clouded in contemplation. She imagines his mind to be a circular well, stretching to an unfathomable depths. But his darkness must be a mist, Haruhi thinks. It is most certainly be gentle, for the person who understands him best is Hunny. If his mystery was so terrible, Hunny would not be as he is, a cup over brimming with light.

"Haruhi-kun." Haruhi is prodded from her reverie by a tiny-first year girl, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but we've run out of tissues…"

Nothing has been interrupted. Of all the hosts, Haruhi is the only one temporarily uncommitted. Once again (_as time goes in the Ouran Universe, ever passing, yet never passing_), the school day has closed, and it is three o'clock in the Third Music Room.

_Somewhere a clock is ticking._

_There will come a day when time won't stand still._

Tamaki stands at the centre of the room. He is wooing a girl with long, brown curled tresses, one of the many from his endless string of Princesses. Her name is Ueda Sayaka. Class 2-B.

He murmurs in her ear. She ducks her head and blushes. As pastel crimson roses bloom around them, her face has warmed to a pretty pink. But as always with Tamaki, it never goes beyond this point. He releases her gently and bids her farewell. And so Ueda Sayaka leaves, with pinks cheeks and a soaring heart.

Close by, Ootori Kyouya leans against the rosewood pillar. He flips to the page of his notepad documenting 'UEDA SAYAKA'.

_Customer satisfaction: 100 percent. _

_Likelihood of return: Certain_

_Performance of Host: Suou Tamaki. Below Standard. _

Tamaki is distracted. Kyouya notes this with a frown. But Kyouya himself is distracted also.

Further away, Hunny pokes at his cake. He eats around the strawberry and his bites are small.

Mori is beside him, looking on. But Mori is not really seeing Hunny at all. His eyes are misty. Though his expression barely differs from its usual impassiveness, the straight line of his mouth is almost a grimace.

On the imported Italian-leather sofa, Kaoru sits alone.

Hikaru is missing.

Haruhi is too.

* * *

Haruhi is in the Host Club storeroom. Oddly, the light switch does not work. While she can find her way about in the dim light, the storeroom is cluttered. Now, she crouches on her hands and knees, trying to read the kanji on the box shoved in the very bottom shelf. As Hikaru walks in, she doesn't stand. "We've run out of tissue," she tells him.

"Really?"

She makes a disapproving noise. "You know it is your fault," she says crisply. Having deciphered the words to read 'Japanese Embroidery Society: Doilies', she stands up, dusting herself off. "The fan girls are going into MOE overload. You should be a little more sparing with your moving moments..."

Hikaru stands next to her, looking up and down. Just as Haruhi rummages through the shelf at eye-level, Hikaru approaches behind her. He sighs. "Overhead," he says.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Overhead," he repeats. "Look up."

Sure enough, there are boxes of tissues located two shelves above her head. Try as she might, Haruhi can't stretch to reach them.

"Sucks to be short," Hikaru teases. "D'you want some help?" And before waiting for an answer, Hikaru comes close and stretches up.

Of course, the move is deliberate. Even through her silken doublet (The theme-for-the-day was Renaissance Prince), she feels the warmth and fluidity of Hikaru's body, the elongation and tautening of chest and arm muscles as he moves. He aligns his body perfectly to frame hers.

But even for all his deliberation, Hikaru hasn't anticipated how his actions would affect _him_.

And it does.

He freezes.

She is beneath him. As the realisation of what this means hits him, he turns red. He is thankful of the darkness that obscures them. He can smell her shampoo; a light scent of peaches and strawberries. He can even smell the traces of graphite and ink on her hands, hair and face. He can smell her; the muskiness of skin, hair, breath, sweat, saliva… and perhaps…

She pushes back against him slightly. "Pervert." Haruhi's voice is matter-of-fact.

Hikaru quickly grabs several boxes of tissue and jumps away. He just maintains balance. He grins as he turns to her. His face is partially obscured by shadow. "Tissues," he says breathlessly.

Haruhi just give him a look. She plucks the boxes from his grasp, and then walks away.

Strangely, Hikaru is not discouraged by her cool dismissal. In fact, he saunters out of the store room, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Several moments later, Renge sidles out of the store room, though no one notices her. Hunny's tears over a box of spoiled Belgian chocolates—he accidentally spilt tea over the open box—is far more distracting.

Tamaki—or what is left of Tamaki. His soul hovers somewhere beyond the troposphere—is huddled in the corner, sulking.

Mori tends to Hunny.

Kyouya is at the side, scribbling notes.

Kaoru and Hikaru are, as always, engaged in their 'Incestuous Love-Love' act. However, Hikaru now smiles too much and Kaoru too little.

Hunny shakes in his tears. He is always particularly, _particularly_ affected by the prospect of ruined food.

Haruhi disappears again. But then, before anyone (_Tamaki_) can dash into the storeroom to save her virtue, she reappears with a fresh box of chocolates.

Hunny stares at her, at her fingers as they deftly pull apart the plastic. The lid is prised open with a soft '_snick_'. There is a soft rustle as the translucent, gold-stencilled cover sheet is removed. The chocolates are revealed.

_Amaretto Truffle_

_Nougatine_

_Giandujotii_

_Amande de Luxe_

_Crème Brulee_

Hunny's mouth waters. Haruhi hides a smile.

"Hunny-senpai," she says, proffering the box towards him.

At that moment, Hunny's perception blurs. Haruhi holds the chocolate. The chocolate is in Haruhi's hands. Chocolate. Haruhi. Chocolate. Haruhi.

And at that moment, Hunny has never wanted anything more in his life. He is almost staggered by desire. But tempered by years of training, Haninozuka Mitsukuni only smiles. He is cute. He is adorable. He is guileless, almost.

He takes a single chocolate and pops it into his mouth. Almost immediately, it melts in his mouth, dissolving into nutty, creamy sweetness. But he is more aware, painfully aware, that Haruhi is still observing him.

"Will you be all right, Hunny-senpai?" she asks.

Somehow, one chocolate has turned into two, then three. Hunny nods, his mouth full. "Yep!" he chirps, as sunflowers bloom around him. "Thank you, Haru-chan!"

In response to this irresistible show of cuteness, fangirls faint and sigh. Then, Mori resumes his usual post nearby Hunny. Haruhi places down the box of chocolates and leaves. Everything seems return to the norm, but something important has changed.

Somewhere, somehow, amidst the kafuffle, Haninozuka Mitsukuni had fallen.

* * *

Hunny had been the last. That he is no longer, nobody knows. Not even Morinozuka Takashi.

Hunny always thought he would be outside the romantic mess than entangled most of the Host Club. Where he was on the Host Club heptagon never mattered before, save the fact that Takashi was on his right, and there was the unbearable angle-of-separation between them.

One hundred and twenty nine degrees.

All along, Mitsukuni now knew, the significance of the heptagon lurked in his peripheral. He had refused to acknowledge it.

And now he did.

It was a small change with vast consequence.

For a regular heptagon has seven sides, seven corners and fourteen diagonals; only four of which lead to Haruhi.

And Mitsukuni

_(gleefully, happily,_

_sweetly)_

forms one.

* * *

**AN for chapter two**

_I'm seriously trying boy-boy love here. It doesn't really show, does it? (frowns). But none of you are reading this for boy-on-boy action, right? Here's to hoping. :p _

_I wrote Hunny (and Mori) first, because I thought he would be the hardest to establish as a romantic interest for Haruhi. Now that I think about it, though, writing Tamaki in (hopefully) moving and mathematical terms is going to be damn hard. _

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Your feedback was encouraging, interesting, and wonderful. I find it fascinating to read about how other people have interpreted my words to say; especially what came through in terms of meaning, and what didn't come through. I really enjoy writing this, and I'm glad people are liking reading it too! _

_Reviews are always the love. :) _


	3. Constructs

**Disclaimer**: _Bisco Hatori owns __… basically anything of monetary worth. _

_The_ **rating** _is T, PG-13_.

* * *

**TESSELLATION **

_**3 of ?**_

**Chapter Three**

**Constructs**

* * *

The regular heptagon is not a constructible polygon, by conventional mathematic terms. It requires a

(_better_)

new method. It is complicated. Time consuming.

Suou Tamaki never thought to construct a heptagon, just as he had never expected the presence of Haruhi Fujioka. Truthfully, things were not meant to be so complex. It was not meant to be this way at all.

But Tamaki cannot break those things he makes, even if its making was not intentional. Just as he cannot dishonour a promise; or tell a lie; or stop himself intervening in situations that do not need him; he cannot shatter

(_the heptagon that is the Host Club_)

those things that he has created.

(_Of the many polygons, it is lesser known_)

Life never happens the way Tamaki wills it.

(_It is an anomaly_).

Sometimes this can be quite unbearable.

* * *

Tamaki colours his childhood gold.

Gold is the colour he imagines sunshine to be. He has never looked directly into the sun, because his mother told him it was a stupid thing to do. So Tamaki won't try.

Gold is the colour of his mother's hair. It had smelt of roses, long ago. Tamaki surrounds himself with roses so he won't forget. But

(_Japanese roses smell different_)

inevitably,

(_he has_)

he will forget

(_forgotten. Past tense_)

because everything is different now.

Gold is the colour which Fujioka Haruhi assumes under sunlight, under lamplight, under any light at all. It becomes the colour of her skin; her hair; the glint of her eyes; the warmth of her expression.

Haruhi is golden.

Suou Tamaki can not look away.

* * *

"Tamaki-senpai…"

BANG BANG BANG

"Tamaki-senpai…"

BANG BANG—

"Yes, Haruhi?" Tamaki jumps up, beaming. In his enthusiasm, he forgets the hammer which he grasps in his hand. It flies from his grip, nearly hitting Hunny on the head. Luckily, Mori catches manages to catch it mid flight.

Having narrowly missed getting walloped on the head with a hammer, Hunny wobbles a little and falls to the ground. Bun-bun crashes after him. Hunny clutches the plush toy to his chest, his eyes wide.

Immediately the sky-rocketing moe-potential of the moment has alerted all the fangirls in proximity. They swarm, just as Hunny gives Mori a grateful glomp. "Thank you, Takashi!" he cries, amidst blooming daises and daffodils.

The surrounding fangirls swoon in moe-induced hysterics.

99999920983640936509833 brain cells die spontaneously.

Meanwhile, Haruhi sighs, eying Tamaki's handiwork on the storeroom door. He has nailed seven overlapping wooden planks to the frame, barring any entrance or exit from the room. "We've run out of forks," she tells him apologetically. "We didn't expect to have so many customers today…"

He blinks at her.

"Forks," she repeats, gesturing at the door.

He blinks again.

"They're in the storeroom, Tamaki-kun…"

Tamaki's eyes widen. "Storeroom?" he echoes.

"The storeroom you've just sealed up, Tamaki," Kyouya leans against a nearby wall, scribbling away on his notepad.

"But I've just finished boarding it up!" Tamaki is dismayed.

The twins appear, grinning. "It looks like you have to undo it all again," Kaoru says.

"What a pity," Hikaru chimes in, with a significant look at Haruhi.

Tamaki glares at Hikaru, flailing wildly. "It was your fault," he seethes at him. "If it wasn't for your lecherous behaviour towards my pure and virtuous daughter…"

The said daughter has already tuned out. Forks make Haruhi think of plates which lead her to think of cups and then tea. Father's favourite red tea is all finished, and she has to get a new packet from the supermarket today It's a pity it isn't on special, but carrots are this week, as well as two-ply toilet paper…

Mori, having extricated himself from the moe-hungry swarm surrounding Hunny, clears his throat in intervention. "The third year students have brought in fresh strawberry cream tarts for Mitsukuni," he tells Kyouya in a low voice. "They want forks."

Slowly, all eyes turn to Tamaki.

The twins' grins widen. Tamaki slumps over and sulks.

Mori gets shunted with the unenviable task of prying the boards from the door. Haruhi, being the official delivery-boy of forks (for the moment, anyway), stands by, watching him. When the last board abruptly falls after he removes it at a bad angle, she rushes over to help.

"Mori-senpai," she says, seeing Mori wince after setting the board down on the floor. "Are you all right?"

"Splinter," he says gruffly. "The boards weren't sanded."

Hunny comes over bearing a first-aid kit. He insists playing nurse to Mori's patient, but his efforts are futile since his hands are sticky from sweets. The splinter is pushed further into Mori's finger.

"I'm sorry, Takashi," Hunny is teary.

"It's all right," Mori says quietly. "Go back to the customers, Mitsukuni. They're getting restless."

Hunny examines Mori once over before reluctantly moving away.

And so, fixing up Mori becomes Haruhi's job. She briskly wipes the tweezers with an alcohol-soaked piece of tissue in preparation. "I'm a bit rusty at this. Father used to get them all the time," she says, "when he tried to make things for our house." She scoots close and examines his finger carefully. "This is a pretty big splinter," she comments.

"Bad wood," Mori murmurs.

Nearby, Tamaki lets out a whimper.

"That's a good thing," Haruhi says quickly. "It makes my job easier."

Carefully, she uses the tweezers to probe under the skin. More carefully still, she aims to get a firm grip on the visible end of the splinter. It is dark against Mori's skin.

Mori shuts his eyes. It is suddenly difficult to breathe. He feels oddly warm. He is oddly aware that Haruhi is very close, and that she is oddly warm as well. He exhales.

"Senpai, are you all right?" Haruhi's voice is worried.

"It's nothing," he says hastily.

"Does it… hurt?"

"Of course it does," he mutters. When her gestures become more hesitant, he sighs and opens his eyes. "This kind of thing always does," he amends hastily. "You're doing a good job, Haruhi-kun."

She offers a tentative smile in response. "Thank you," she whispers.

Even if she had been doing a terrible job, that would have hardly mattered. As this thought strikes Mori, he lets out another sigh.

"Senpai?"

"It's nothing." Mori jolts to attention. "Nothing, nothing at all."

Haruhi studies him carefully and then returns her attention to his finger. "I've almost got it," she tells him. "This is always a tricky task."

Mori can count on one hand the number of females he is acquainted with. First, there is his mother. Then, there is his grandmother, his great-aunt Risa, and lastly, Fujioka Haruhi.

Because of his lacking experience, his thoughts cannot help but wander. He has confided to Mitsukuni about some aspects of this matter. Some aspects, but not all. There are some things that even Mitsukuni cannot know about.

She is so close now, he can feel her every move. Dry mouthed, he barely manages to swallow.

Suddenly, the pain that dully aches in his finger is gone. Haruhi triumphantly holds up the tweezers. "There!" she says, smiling. She stands inches away from him now, no longer in bodily contact. Mori feels strangely cold. An odd sense of wanting prickles at his skin.

"I could have done a better job though," she says. And then she is holding his hand again, examining his finger. "That hole is bigger than it should be."

"I'm fine," Mori quickly reassures her.

From the first-aid kit, she withdraws cotton buds and dampens it with alcohol. She swipes his finger and then wraps a Band-aid around it.

"All better," she says cheerfully. She grins at him as she packs away the unused items back into the first aid kit. "I'd better put this back." She closes the kit with a snap.

Then she stands. And she leaves.

Mori stares after her blankly as she heads towards the storeroom.

Detaching themselves from their position behind the pole from where they had been spying, the twins slink after her.

Mori's gaze sharpens.

However, Tamaki has sprinted ahead. The moment Haruhi enters the storeroom, he scurries in and slams the door shut with a bang. Just as Hikaru and Kaoru reach the door, there is a sound of the lock turning.

Hikaru's expression darkens to a scowl. Kaoru sighs. He leans against the doorframe, a faint sneer playing at his mouth. "Milord is such a hypocrite," he says.

Mori is still staring.

"Takashi." Hunny comes over and pokes at him with the stub end of a fork. "Would you like some strawberry cake?"

Mori turns, ever so slowly, to see Hunny giving him a puppy-eyed look. As Hunny extends the pink plate with its neat slice of strawberry cake right at the middle, daisies blossom all around him. Sighs and squeals travel around the room.

But in his mind, Mori still sees the heavy solidity of the door before him, shutting behind Suou Tamaki. Mori's hands clench into fists. The material of the Band-aid rubs against the flesh of his palm. The gash on is finger stings in response.

"Takashi?" Hunny is hesitant now. His brow is even slightly furrowed. When he pokes Mori again, the jab is firm. Unbeknownst to the fangirls who still swoon around them, he has chosen a particularly painful pressure point to prod.

As the pain startles Mori to attention, Hunny smiles sweetly once more. Even in his jealousy-glazed state, Mori recognises the edge to Hunny's smile. Mori may not understand it,

(_perhaps he doesn't want to_)

but he is instantly compelled to obey.

"Would you like some cake, Takashi?" Hunny's voice is ever saccharine.

Numbly, Mori accepts the plate and fork. He jabs down his fork and pushes a piece of cake towards his mouth. He bites. He swallows. "Thank you," he mumbles.

Hunny still hides beneath his happy mask.

* * *

Haruhi jumps as the gears of the lock to the storeroom door grinds close. "Who's there?" she demands sharply, crashing against a shelf. Something brittle tinkles nearby. She closes her eyes and forces herself to stand still as it occurs to her that this may be another one of Kyouya's schemes to increase her debt to the Host Club. Haruhi is very careful.

However, it is Tamaki's voice that emerges from the darkness. "It's me," he declares in a Princely voice. "I'm here to save you—"

She softens. "If you don't open the door soon, you'll walk into a wall and need saving too," she tells him.

Tamaki falls silent. Even in the darkness, she can detect the impending aura of a sulking fit. As annoyance creeps up inside her, she steadies herself against the shelf. "Tamaki-kun," she begins evenly.

"Actually, Haruhi," Tamaki finally speaks, his voice small. "I was just wondering… I had splinters too…"

Haruhi responds warily. "It is a little dark, Tamaki-kun," she says.

There is a kafuffle in the blackness as Tamaki trips over something. "I know," he says. "But…" And then, amidst the darkness, there is a tiny pin-prick of light. Haruhi can see a dim outline of Tamaki's figure.

"Tamaki-kun," she begins again.

One by one, a series of tiny lights flicker on until there is a small patch of illumination. Tamaki huddles at the centre, nearby a box of novelty fairy lights. As Haruhi comes closer, he gazes up to her, his eyes dark. "Will you help me?" he whispers.

Something, and what that something is, Haruhi cannot begin to comprehend, makes her breath catch. She stares back at him, temporarily wordless. "Well," she says helplessly, floundering for words. Her hand, clutching the handle of the first-aid kit, suddenly feels clammy. It is as though there is a lump at her throat.

Haruhi understands… she understands, at long last, that there is some huge significance to the intent that underpins Tamaki's question. There is a glimmer of his eyes

(_no, not the lights_)

that pleads to her. He is asking a question he cannot ask in words.

(_Tamaki cannot break those things he makes, even if its making was not intentional_)

Her head hurts. Her heart hurts.

Somehow, she is beside him, crouched a wary distance away. "Splinters, you say?" her voice is husky.

He nods.

She swallows. "I don't suppose there's anymore fairy lights?" she responds finally.

"We have several boxes." Tamaki rummages around.

"We really should fix the lights in here," she says.

"I know…" Haruhi catches a glimpse of Tamaki's white-toothed grin. "But then, it wouldn't be as romantic, would it?"

"Please don't tell me you planned this."

"Not at all." Tamaki's reply is prompt and candid.

Finally, when enough lights have been assembled, Haruhi settles down next to him, tweezers in hand. "I will say," she tells him, furrowing her brow in concentration as she scrutinises his finger. "This is an awful waste of resources and electricity."

"I don't think so," Tamaki's voice is serene.

This finally provokes a smile from Haruhi. "You wouldn't," she says. "How many splinters do you have?" she asks.

"Quite a few."

"We'll be here quite a while then."

"Perhaps," he says.

As she examines his finger, he allows his hand to rest on her shoe, and his chin to brush against her hair. While she is beside him, thigh to thigh, arm to arm; he doesn't sneak in any further contact.

Tamaki is patient; he will wait. That is his way. For now, he is content to gaze at her, as she is bathed by the glow of the fairy lights.

Fujioka Haruhi is indeed golden.

Tamaki, who adores all things golden, knows he loves golden Haruhi best.

* * *

Outside, Hikaru sulks.

Kaoru stares at the ceiling.

Kyouya scribbles in his notebook. His brow is furrowed.

Mori is quiet.

Hunny eats cake.

"When are they going to come out?" Hikaru is the one who breaks the silence.

"When they do," Kyouya responds. His voice is calm.

"Do something!" Hikaru rounds on him. "You aren't just going to let them remain inside there."

"It's Tamaki," Kyouya reminds him. "What would Tamaki do?"

In the absence of Tamaki, Hikaru is temporarily possessed by the Tamaki-Inner-Mind-Theatre. Haunted by visions of Prince-Supreme-Tamaki, he buries his face in his hands.

Some time later, the door opens. Haruhi comes out with several pieces of tissue. Tamaki comes out. His hands are bandaged.

There is a long pause, followed by a longer silence.

Hikaru starts at their reappearance. His mouth opens as he thinks to say something. Before words audibly form, however, his mouth clamps shut. He simply turns and walks away. Kaoru doesn't immediately follow his twin. His eyes linger on Haruhi. But he too eventually turns to tread the exact same path as Hikaru.

Hunny zooms over bearing platters of cake. His face is creased in a grin. "Haru-chan, Tama-chan," he announces. "Let's all have CAKE!"

* * *

The regular heptagon is not a constructible polygon, by conventional mathematic terms. It requires special equipment, extra fastidiousness. It requires concentration, creativity and the very desire to bother.

The heptagon does not occur in nature. In truth, the heptagon shouldn't even exist as it does within the Host Club. Things were never meant to be this way.

The presence of Fujioka Haruhi had never been expected.

Life never happens the way Tamaki wills it,

(_but_)

Sometimes, this is for the better.

**_

* * *

_**

AN:

_I'm afraid I can't send out any additional information about the story (for example, what the heptagon looks like), because that's meant to be revealed in the later chapters. :) _

_These chapters are getting longer. It isn't symbolic as such (but by all means, credit me with that sort of high-order thinking. :p). It's probably because as the story continues, there is more I want to explore, and more words are needed to provide explanations. _

_Also, it is notable to mention that edits to this story happens frequently. As I write new chapters, I usually refer to those chapters already uploaded to make sure I don't create any plotholes. However, in the process, I sometimes notice things I do wrong and I correct them. For example, in chapter two, Mori is now on Hunny's right, Mori is to Haruhi's left. Kaoru is to Haruhi's right. This was what I meant to write originally (as in Mori is Hunny's 'right-hand man'), but I get my directions confused. (Yeah, I'm a horrible back seat driver. Whenever I give map-readings, I always end up giving the wrong directions even if I have the right concept, technically speaking. ) _

HA! I've just discovered my biggest boo-boo of all. The title-spelling error. Tessellation has two Ls and two Ss. (I don't mind publicising my stupidity...)

_To those who reviewed, thank you. :) Your feedback is always very , very precious. :p _


	4. Limits

Disclaimer

: _Bisco Hatori owns the moe (read: everything Ouran). _

_The_ **rating** _is M, R. _

**WARNING**_: Polyamory, kiddies beware. It is all inference, no consummation, so to speak, but I'm playing safe. _

* * *

**TESSELLATION**

_4 of ?_

**Chapter Four**

**Limits**

* * *

A regular heptagon has seven sides, seven corners and fourteen diagonals.

And that is all. Any more or less of one and it would no longer be a heptagon.

There are tangents, of course, and room for constructs and extensions within.

There are properties: specific angle sizes, specific measurements and formulae.

There are limits.

(_In the heptagon of circumradius one, as x approaches zero, y approaches one._)

There are constraints.

There is no room for deviation.

Kyouya recognises the fragility of their situation; and he recognises too that he has assigned himself the at times difficult

(_at times amusing_,

_at times extremely exploitable_)

role of the enforcer of order.

* * *

Kasanoda Ritsu, for all the rough intimidation of his physical appearance, is in truth a gentleman. A gentle soul lies beneath the tracery of his uncouth features. He desires the base things in life, like friendship; kicking cans with his underlings. Food; but that is explanatory. Love; but it is a specific love. He yearns for but one: Fujioka Haruhi.

This base yearning, at times, makes his presence in the Third Music room extremely undesirable. Whenever Kasanoda Ritsu is around, things are always somehow _wrong_.

When Hunny eats cake, his eyes are manic.

Mori is distant and preoccupied.

Kyouya's glasses begin to glint bizarrely. His scribbles on his notepad become frenetic.

Soulless Tamaki is robotic. Despite all the pleads and pleas, life is utterly irretrievable.

The twins begin recycling old dramatic-love scenarios as their attention clearly drifts elsewhere.

The Host Club customers, in fixating their attention on the certain moe of Haruhi-Kasanoda interaction, do not notice these little tell-tale details.

There comes a succession of weeks when Kasanoda is not seen around the Third Music Room at all. For a while, the Host club settles into a pastel haze of smugness.

Tamaki is over the moon.

The twins pounce on Haruhi at every opportunity.

Hunny eats cake.

Mori is ever calm, perhaps even more so than usual.

Kyouya scribbles on his notepad. His glasses glint.

But then, there comes the inevitable day when Kasanoda returns.

Sometime near three fifteen, the Music Room's door flies open and Kasanoda strides in. His face is red. His bandaged hand cradles a single white rose that he stumblingly presents to Haruhi.

Haruhi blinks.

"A white rose represents purity of heart," Kasanoda mumbles, his face mottling to the shade of a kumato.

Haruhi blinks again and then finally smiles. "That's a nice way to describe our friendship," she says.

Nearby, the horde of watching fangirls choke.

"Haruhi-kun is so brutal," Houshakuji Renge sighs, disappointedly packing away her super-power binoculars.

A little while later, Tamaki and Haruhi are jointly entertaining a gaggle of clients. The twins swoon in each other's arms, to the delight of their rapt audience. On the opposite side of the room, Honey takes cake-appreciation classes. Mori is on hand with napkins, spare plates and napkins. Kyouya stands near the corner of the Third Music Room, scribbling on a notepad. Kasanoda is beside him, his expression even fiercer than normal.

"I'm asking for one day, Ootori-san," he growls.

Kyouya pushes his glasses to the bridge of his nose. "Haruhi is a popular host," he says coolly. "Your measly offer would not recoup even half of the losses."

"I'll double my offer," Kasanoda says unblinkingly. "I'll triple it. Quadruple it."

"Valentines Day is very important on the Host Club Calender," Kyouya says silkily. "I apologise, Kasanoda-san, but I simply must reject your offer."

"One hundred thousand yen." Kasanoda is red.

Only the slight quiver of the notepad in Kyouya's hands betray his warring emotions over the situation. The figures dance in front of his eyes. Luckily, Kasanoda does not notice.

"Absolutely not." When Kyouya finally speaks, his voice as coolly calm and collected as ever. "Kasanoda-san, no matter how high you raise the price, the answer will always be no."

Kasanoda's slit eyes are red with fury. "I thought you liked money, Ootori-san."

"It is not an issue of what I like or dislike." Kyouya's glasses glint. "I am thinking on behalf of my fellow Host Club members."

"You're hardly a selfless person," Kasanoda muttered through gritted teeth.

"I have my moments," Kyouya responds serenely.

Kasanoda's eyes narrow further. "Kyouya-san," he begins to say. "You wouldn't possibly be also—"

But whatever suspicion Kasanoda had towards Kyouya at that moment would never be known. At that very moment, a shriek echoes throughout the entire Host Club. Startled, the two boys turn around just in time to catch Tamaki ceremoniously stepping away from Haruhi, having bestowed her with a passionate mouth-to-mouth kiss.

Plates shatter. Cake is smeared over pristine tiles. Hunny's face is obscured by a blanketing of golden hair and Usa-chan, who he hugs so tightly that the toy is bent double in the middle.

Mori's expression is stunned.

The twins are furious. They storm over to Tamaki. Hikaru snatches Haruhi from Tamaki's limp-wristed grasp and hugs her to him. But before Hikaru even begins his blistering tirade, Kyouya steps in.

"Tamaki," he says, his voice weary. "I assume there was a reason behind your kiss."

Tamaki is utterly guileless. "We were talking about families," he begins.

"And then we talked about how people from different cultures greet each other," another girl supplies.

"Apparently Italians kiss each other in greeting…" says another.

"I'm a quarter Italian," Tamaki adds cheerfully. "From my mother's side, from her mother's side."

Kyouya's glasses glint. "I see," he says ominously.

"I was just showing the girls how things are done," Tamaki announces grandly, "and as it is my duty as Haruhi's father, I lead by example. "

"On the mouth?" Mori makes an uncommon contribution, his tone ever monotonous.

All eyes blink towards him, then slowly, swivel back to Tamaki.

"And just Haru-chan?" Hunny chips in. He eats a forkful of cake and returns Tamaki's smile for a dazzling one of his own. "Aren't you neglecting the feelings of the girls, Tama-chan?"

At this alluring suggestion, there comes a happy chorus of agreement.

"What a brilliant idea, Mitsukuni-senpai," coos Renge, eyeing Tamaki's lips very much in the way a vulture eyes a baby.

"Oh yes, Suou-kun!" chimes another girl.

"We wouldn't mind…"

"Kiss me, please!"

Tamaki pales one or two shades. Then resolutely steeling himself, he pecks each and every one of the girls on the cheek.

With a defiant look on his face, he moves on to kiss a baffled Kasanoda, a sticky-cheeked Hunny, the dazed Hitachiins, a stoic Mori. When he moves to kiss Kyouya, grazing his lips lightly across one smoothly shaved cheek, Kyouya inexplicably turns around at the same time.

Mouths part with surprise. Somehow, tongue is involved.

One second.

Two.

They jump apart, electric-shocked. Tamaki has one hand across his mouth, cheeks aflame; a blushing virgin. Kyouya's eyes are blank, his face slack and white.

"Milord…" Kaoru is the first brave soul to attempt speech. But just as quickly as he begins to speak, Renge recovers at once.

"KYAAAAAAAAAAH!" She dances around madly, flailing with her camera. "MOE, MOE, MOE, MOE, MOEEEEEE!"

As if on cue, the bemused girls rouse and follow her ecstatic example.

"This will definitely into this months Moe-Moe Ouran Journal, and might even qualify for the top five Moe moments of the year," Renge sighs, regaining her breath. She gazes starry eyed at the frozen Kyouya and long-departed, soulless Tamaki. "This was even better than my dreams!" At this thought, she dissolves into screeches again.

In the midst of the chaos, two Hitachiins, bearing one Fujioka Haruhi, beeline for the door. And when the kafuffle dies down, their absence is the first thing that Tamaki notices.

He blinks. Blinks again.

"Where is Haruhi, Mother?"

Blink.

"Where are the lecherous twins?"

Then, oddly… since there is no response from said mother…

"Where is Kyouya?"

* * *

The dark depths of the Host Club storeroom are increasingly becoming familiar. Haruhi catches her breath as she finds herself pillowed in a warm body. She quickly attempts to wriggle out of the grasp enclosing her, but the arms tighten.

"It's all right, Haruhi," Kaoru's voice sounds from the dimness. "We're both here."

For a strange reason, it somehow sounds reassuring as Haruhi realises that Hikaru is the one holding her. Still holding her.

"What exactly are we doing here?" she asks softly.

"I'm not sure," Hikaru murmurs. "Do you know, Kaoru?"

"No, Hikaru, I don't." There is a pause. "But we can always improvise." His voice is dark with suggestion.

"Brilliant idea," Hikaru says approvingly, his voice as smooth a silk.

"Let's play the 'Which One Is Hikaru' Game!" the twins chorus in unison.

Now Haruhi forcibly wrenches herself from Hikaru's arms and scoots herself backwards. "I don't think so," she says immediately. "We can't play, anyway. It is much too dark. I can't see."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Kaoru says.

"You're so good at the game anyway…" Hikaru says. His voice is deeper, huskier. "We should try something new."

"Different," Kaoru adds.

"A little more private…"

"We can teach you a special game…"

"It is a secret, but—"

"We play it together so well. It would be nice to see how it works in three.." Kaoru's tone becomes almost indolent. In the darkness, he reaches out. When he touches skin, a hand, he is disappointed to recognise it to be Hikaru's. Nevertheless, he entwines his fingers with his brothers. "What do you say, Haruhi?"

There is a silence.

"Haruhi?" This time, Hikaru speaks.

The silence becomes long, and it stretches and lingers to become something terrible and unbearable.

"I told you, Kaoru," Hikaru says finally, after the silence becomes too painful. Kaoru's grip is numbing his fingers. "I told you this wasn't a good idea."

"Haruhi…" Kaoru whispers coaxingly.

The light flickers on, sudden and startling.

Temporarily blinded, the twins rub their eyes When they finally can see, can look around, they find the storeroom empty, save their twin presence.

* * *

When the twins emerge from the storeroom, to the cheery light of the Host Club, the one thing they notice automatically is that Haruhi isn't there. Striding over to where Mori and Hunny sit, Hikaru is the one to speak, to confront. He is composed, barely. "Which way did Haruhi go?"

"Haruhi?" Hunny considers them with wide, started eyes. "Where did you two go?" he asks instead. "Tama-chan was looking for you."

"Haruhi," Kaoru says through gritted teeth. "Where did she—"

"She and Kyo-chan came out from the storerooms a little while ago," Hunny says. He eats cake and looks to Usa-chan as if for confirmation. "And then they left."

"Left," Hikaru says flatly.

"Left to where?" Kaoru's voice is ice.

"They went to buy instant coffee," Hunny is chirpy. "Our stocks were running low."

Kaoru looks to Hikaru. Hikaru looks away. "I see," they murmur in unison.

Then they are in the bathroom, at the end of the corridor. The light is soft. Music plays in low, mournful sweet tones. Hikaru's fingers linger over his hair parting. Right or left? Does it matter? He holds his breath. His eyes avoid his own in the mirror. Kaoru stands beside him, hands under the continuously spouting faucet, gushing down his skin.

"Hikaru," he murmurs.

"Kaoru." Hikaru's voice is steady.

"Was that a no?" Kaoru is barely audible.

In a snap, their eyes meet in the mirror.

"No." Hikaru's jaw is tight.

"She pulled away." Kaoru's eyes are momentarily opaque. "If she wanted it—"

"She would have said so," Hikaru says, his voice so taut it seems as though it may almost snap.

"Was it too soon?"

Kaoru can read Hikaru like a book. The look in his eyes is one of defeat.

"Perhaps." Hikaru's mouth pulls into an unhappy compromise between a grimace and a smile. He has decided that his parting will be left, not right.

"I'm sorry," Kaoru bows his head.

"So am I."

The gushing water stops.

"It was none of your business." Haruhi gently separates out a hand-basket from the pile at the entrance and nestles the handle in the crook of her arm. "You had no right to interfere."

"I handle matters of the Host Club." Kyouya's hands are tucked into his pocket. He surveys the interior of the supermarket disdainfully: the shelves, the gaudily coloured mass-produced goods. His lip curls.

"It was none of your business," she repeats, her voice flat. "It was no one's business but ours."

"Don't be obtuse, Fujioka," he says curtly. "Who you eventually decide on is everyone's business."

Her cheeks are pink. She adamantly avoids his eyes. "I could decide on none of you," she mutters rebelliously.

"You could." His tone suggests that this is highly unlikely.

As they walk to the dried beverages aisle, they are silent.

"Would you have said yes?" Kyouya asks, as she skims the shelves for the right brand. The jars at the bottom have all sold out. The only ones available are located on the top shelf, just within her reach.

She shrugs, unwilling to give a verbal concrete answer. "I never got to make a decision," she says, as she arches on tip-toes.

From directly behind her, he pushes the bottle out of her reach. "You don't have to decide," he whispers in her ear.

She is aware how large he is, compared to her. There is a warmth to his body, a solidity. At the same time, there is a danger, like a silent snake, hovering to wait for the precise, perfect moment to strike.

"Just get the damn coffee," she hisses to him.

He moves closer. His chest grazes her back; her buttocks his legs. His breath moistens the shell of her ear. "Or you could," he says, "choose all of us."

She stiffens.

He pulls back, coffee in hand. When she turns around, she sees him smiling, triumphant. She herself is pale.

"Don't be vulgar," she says, her tone icily cold.

He smirks at her. "I'm not talking about today," he says patronisingly. "Perhaps when you grow up." His eyes flicker up and down. "If you grow up," he adds.

She exhales, terribly offended, but they are on safe ground for now. Giving him a look that suggests that she thinks he is crazy, she stalks past him with her empty hand-basket. He is complacent as he strolls after her.

* * *

The role of the enforcer of order is at times

(_absolutely exploitable_)

unpredictable.

Kyouya, the Shadow King understands

(_power corrupts,  
_

_Absolute power corrupts absolutely_)

well.

* * *

_AN: _

_Actually, I wasn't living under a rock for the past few weeks (though it certainly feels like it. :p) This chapter was bloody difficult to write. I think it was because I wasn't heading in the right direction for a while. Most of this is spontaneous writing, and I can't write on if it doesn't 'feel right'. There were actually two version of this chapter, one Kyouya-centric and one Kaoru-centric, that I wrote simultaneously because neither seemed to fit. I kind merged them both, and then all the pieces fell together. Hurrah!_

_I'm happy the way this turned out, and I hope you liked it too. :) The rating has been upped, because that's the way the story is headed… _

_And, to answer a few questions: _

_**Q: Why did Haruhi have tissues? (C3)**_

_A: Tissues come with the first aid kit. (At least I have tissues in my first aid kit)_

_**Q: Is Aunt Risa canon? (C3)**_

_A: Nope. But I can just see Mori with some really old, rickety relation who forces him to scrub her back and collect her toe-nail clippings (to dump) or something senile like that… _

_Keep sweet, people:) I can't promise anything, but I'll definitely try to finish this by the end of the year. _

_Thank you for reviewing! Encouragement is always appreciated. :)_


	5. These Games We Play

-

**Disclaimer**: _Bisco Hatori says no... (Leslie doesn't actually own a thing. :p) _

**Warning**: _Polyamory. This is more like citrus cordial. It ain't lemonade till water is added (which won't happen, because the instant burgeoning anatomy is involved, my writing changes comical attempt to comically bad writing.) _

_The_ **rating** _is M, R_.

-

**TESSELLATION **

_**5 of ?**_

**Chapter Five**

**These Games We Play**

-

_Tamaki is patient; he will wait._

-

There comes another day, a month, or week. Time does not pass as it should in Ouran High School. Sometimes, Haruhi thinks no time has passed at all, and she is reliving every single day again differently.

Somehow.

It is not possible.

It is Tamaki's birthday. He is seventeen. Grinning, roguish and utterly uncontrollable, he has somehow rented an entire hotel and the Host Club have the run of it for the day. Designed to be ultra modern and ultra fantastic, stepping from one room into another is like bridging two different worlds.

Haruhi is reluctantly the perfectly dressed Victorian maiden. Wearing a wig of luxurious chestnut curls, and a pastel confection of a dress that cinches in dramatically at the waist to flare out into waves of lace and crinoline, the two splotches of painted colour on her cheeks barely disguise her annoyance-induced flush.

The dress is beautiful and comfortable. It is also specially commissioned. Kyouya has a glint in his eye when he hands the garment to her. She realises immediately the trappings of her situation.

It is impossible not to get this dress dirty. The skirts reach pass the floor and rustle as it brushes against the carpet.

Today, falling further into debt is practically guaranteed.

"Tamaki-senpai," she says through gritted teeth, as a suited-up Tamaki greets her extending one slim hand. She is dimly aware that she is obligated to be nice to him today because it is his birthday; but she is more than a little annoyed.

Tamaki can only maintain the exterior of the civilised gentleman for so long around Haruhi. Before she can take his proffered hand, he rushes up to her and glomps her instead, bringing her up close until his nose is buried in towering curls.

Obscured by the mass of hair, he brushes a kiss on her forehead before pulling away. "You look amazing!" he crows, resuming his zaniness. He grins at her. "Daddy is so proud…"

The twins slink in, grabbing at Haruhi at once. There is one for each side. Their hands slide across the satin bodice of the dress, resting at the curve of her hip.

"Time's up, Tamaki," Hikaru says.

"Kyouya-san looks lonely, Tamaki, why don't you join him?" Kaoru says.

"You can give him one big—" Hikaru is stopped by Haruhi's less-than-delicate kick to his shin.

She gives him a look.

He smirks back.

"Report," he concludes silkily. The identical white looks of horror on Tamaki and Kyouya's widens his grin.

The much-talked about Tamaki-Kyouya kiss is an event that will never, ever, ever be forgotten.

And the twins are still annoyed at Kyouya.

Hikaru turns back to Haruhi, leaning close, aware that Kaoru is mirroring him perfectly. "Shall we?"

"Eat scones," Kaoru supplies.

"With strawberry jam and cream," Hikaru says, looking significantly at his brother.

"I do like cream." Kaoru's hand slides and tightens on Haruhi's waist. "How about you, Haruhi?"

"Kaoru," Hikaru cuts in at once. "You forgot about the ootoro."

Haruhi, whose mind had been wandering to maths homework and grocery shopping (financial maths!); immediately snaps to attention. "Ootoro?"

The twins grin and press themselves even closer. "We've got ootoro," they say in perfect, sleek unison.

Haruhi's eyes go hazy with want. "Where?"

As Tamaki flails in the background, and Kyouya's mouth presses in a straight line; the twins gleefully lead Haruhi away to their especially prepared platter of food.

A little further away, Hunny's gaze is distant as he desolately pokes at his cake. The cream crumples. Crumbs crumble.

"Mitsukuni." Mori is lightly rebuking. "You're making a mess."

Hunny pushes his bottom lip outward in uncontrollable petulance. He clutches Usa-chan tight. "I don't care," he mutters. "Bun-bun doesn't care, either."

"Mitsukuni." This time, Mori's tone is sterner.

"Tama-chan." Hunny turns an unusually dark glance towards Tamaki. "This is no fun," he says, in tones slightly less boyish than usual. "Make up something fun to do."

Tamaki is blank. He is still staring towards the door, the direction where the twins exited with Haruhi. "Do what?" he asks wanly.

"Something!" Hunny stabs a strawberry and chews it with vengeance. "You organised the party!"

Tamaki's lip wobbles. "But I'm the birthday boy," he says falteringly.

"I've got it," Kyouya says, a faint tinge of annoyance in his voice. He taps away on his laptop. He, unlike some others, had prepared himself for potential boredom. "I'm doing a random search and pick of group party games…"

"Too slow." Hunny stabs another strawberry. "Chika has a cat who can work a keyboard faster than you can."

"Sardines," Kyouya says abruptly. He slides a look towards the brooding Hunny. "We're playing Sardines."

-

The twins are in one of the hotel's many dining rooms. Framing Haruhi side by side, they watch as she eats ootoro as if it is the most fascinating sight in the world.

Perhaps to them it is.

Occasionally, traces of meat or sauce linger on her lip, fingers or mouth. In one languorous, insouciant movement, a twin will reach out to catch the remnant, popping soiled fingers in their mouths.

Tamaki, the first to walk into the room, catches one twin in action. He instantly bursts into hysterics. "My daughter!" he wails, pouncing on Haruhi. "You've been violated by the devil twins and their devious bribing tactics!"

Haruhi, who is in the process of licking her fork, somehow misses the brunt of this rant. She looks at him questioningly. "Pardon?"

"We're playing Sardines," Kyouya says over Tamaki's shoulder. His presence is grim and utterly unquestionable. "Leave that," he says, of the beautifully arranged plate of ootoro in front of her. It is only partway eaten. "I can get you some more later."

"But—" Haruhi considers the plate of ootoro longingly.

"It will be packaged for you," Kyouya says, as Tamaki dredges up Haruhi by the arm. "Leave."

The twins slink behind Tamaki and Haruhi, casting black looks at Kyouya. "Always ruining our fun," Hikaru mutters.

Kyouya smirks. "I know."

Both twins glower. Swivelling heel, they march away, noses in the air.

-

The necessity of changing occurs to no one except Haruhi, who knows better to speak. Stiff cloth rustles as they play rounds of scissors-paper-rock to determine who is 'In'. She winces at the prospect of cramming into a small space, waiting for the next person to find them.

The rules of Sardines is simple. One person hides. Everyone tries to find them, separately, on their own. As soon as one person finds the other, they hide in the exact same place, to wait for the next person to uncover the secret place.

Mori is the first.

"Third floor only," Kyouya says. "No outdoors, no locked rooms, no servant's quarters, no toilets, bathrooms, kitchens…"

The hotel is enormous. The third floor alone has two function rooms, two gymnasiums, a scattering of miscellaneous meeting rooms, a concert hall.

As Mori goes away to hide, everyone huddles close, beginning the countdown from one hundred. With each increment of ten, Tamaki and the twins attempt to creep closer to Haruhi. As the number approaches sixty, the progression comes at increments of five.

"If this dress gets crushed, it is their fault," Haruhi says clearly, interrupting the countdown at fifty-three. Her comment is directed with pointed consideration at Tamaki and the twins.

Kyouya's evil eye, gleaming with malevolence at the very possibility of losing money, quickly solves the problem. As the three boys reluctantly back away, Hunny gleefully bounces into the position closest to Haruhi.

"Thirty-three…"

"Twenty-five…"

"Fifteen…"

"Five…"

"Two…"

"One…"

Immediately, everyone goes their own separate ways. The twins make surprisingly little fuss at the prospect of being separated.

More than one mind considers the possibility of following Haruhi around. However, any plots are quickly dispelled when she disappears like smoke on a blustery day.

-

Haruhi has a grand plan. The grand plan involves hiding herself.

As she darts through the corridors, she makes up her mind to go to the concert hall. With the lights switched off, hundreds of seats and many other dark, shadowy places, she considers it the perfect place to get lost in.

She eases her way into the dark room. Letting the curtain-covered wall act as her guidance, she carefully makes her way down the stairs when her hand suddenly hits the distinctive shape of a doorknob.

What is the chance? She considers the curtain with much speculation. Ducking underneath the heavy, velvety folds, she works the door open and stumbles into the space beyond.

She lands on a decidedly solid body.

"Fujioka-san!" A little torch flickers on to reveal a surprised and somewhat disgruntled Mori. His voice is hushed. "I thought it would take longer for someone to find me."

"I thought so too," Haruhi admits unhappily. "I stumbled across here by luck."

"You were trying to get out of the game," Mori says.

The wry twist of her mouth acknowledges the fact she has been caught. "Nice little place," she murmurs. "What is it?"

"A storeroom."

Haruhi closes her eyes. Fate is inescapable. A storeroom it is indeed. There are boxes upon boxes upon boxes of something which she can't really make out in the dimness. Mori's torch flickers close.

She settles back, sitting on one box, leaning on another, and using another as a footrest. "I'm glad it is you," she says.

"Me?" Mori is baffled, but very pleased. The dark blessedly hides his overly-wide grin and furious blush.

"Being with the twins in dark cramped places is a little too familiar these days," she says dryly.

"Ah."

"We should be quiet, shouldn't we?" she whispers. "Sorry."

They sit in a comfortable silence for a while.

The box Haruhi is sitting on is large, bumpy and hard. After a while, it gets uncomfortable. She carefully shifts around, but unluckily ends up falling off.

A flurry of boxes fall in after her.

Rolling, she lands on something hard, distinctly warm and breathing. Catching her own breath, she rests her head on the closest solid thing. "I'm sorry."

"No matter." He shifts from under her.

Her face is resting on his thigh. Haruhi realises that one of her hands is on Mori's pleasingly flat stomach. Mentally berating herself, she attempts to move. The lines of his body provide a point of guidance, until she realises that her hands have no direction.

Almost every inch of Mori is muscled and firm. There is not one place of softness, no room for differentiation. Hard. Harder…

"Fujioka-san." Mori's voice is strained.

_There_.

Her face flames. "Mori-senpai, I—"

Suddenly, from behind them, the door creaks open. A bright, bright torch shines in, illuminating the entire room. Mori and Haruhi are huddled in the corner, utterly entangled and entwined.

The bearer of the torch, Hunny, blinks.

"We had a little accident," Haruhi mutters, scrambling off Mori.

Hunny's face is shadowed. He clamours in and shuts the door behind him. "I see."

Not turning off his torch, he settles on the corner far away from both of them. The torch illuminates the sulky, drawn planes of his face. Usa-chan is caught in a stranglehold.

"Mitsukuni," Mori says pleadingly. "Don't be like that."

"It is fine." Hunny's childish tones are curt.

"Mitsukuni…"

"I told you." There is a bite to the words. "I don't care."

Now settled on a box of her own, Haruhi is fervently examining her hands. Her usual stoic demeanour is utterly gone. Her own mouth is droopy with understanding. "Not you too," she says finally, cutting into the bitter silence.

In the shadows, Mori frowns.

"Is the thought so terrible?" The twist to Hunny's mouth is sour.

She shakes her head wordlessly.

"I'm two whole years older than you." While his voice is still sweet and high, there is distinctly something old and grey underpinning his words. "And I understand." His voice catches. "Adult things."

"Mitsukuni—" Mori attempts to interrupt.

"I might not be big, tall, strong, and manly, but I like you very much, Haru-chan." There is a tinge of tears to Hunny's words. It is slight, faint, but not childish at all.

Haruhi is still looking towards her hands. Her head is bowed. "You… and everyone else." She cuts off, pressing her lips together. She leans back into the boxes. Her hands clench into fists. "I thought…" Her mind is roiling. Her thoughts flitter back to Kyouya in the supermarket.

"Is there someone you prefer, Haru-chan?" Hunny gulps. His question is brave.

She pinches her nose, giving herself reason for breathlessness. Something aches inside her, but she doesn't know where it starts. "It would make everything less complicated, wouldn't it," she says finally, softly.

"There's no one you prefer," Hunny presses on.

"I try not to think about it," Haruhi says truthfully. She fiddles with the lace hemming her skirts. "I thought," she begins again, pauses again. She wipes at her eyes. Her constant fretting at her lips has surely has wiped off most of the rouge. "I thought it would be a phase," she says. "We're all play acting. Perhaps we all just confused our roles with reality…"

"None of us play act," Mori says.

She gazes at him for a long while, her eyes inscrutable in the shadows. "Sometimes a little," she says.

"Not at all."

Her mind flickers to the twins, to Tamaki, Kyouya. Her eyes flicker to the boys in front of her.

She swallows and wills herself to calm. She takes one breath, three. She is still. "I am poor," she says, resorting to bluntness. "I don't wear pretty clothes. I don't even look like a girl, half the time. There is very little reason later for our relationships to continue if we…" She bites down on the words that were to come. She changes direction. "I don't have the leisure, the pleasure like the rest of you to play the games you do."

"These aren't just games, Haruhi," Hunny says firmly.

"I know." Her gaze returns to her hands, knotted in the material of her dress. "But I still can't afford to…" she pauses. "Do anything," she finishes off weakly. _With you, any of you_, is left unsaid.

"Why?" Hunny's question isn't so much one of petulance than a statement of disbelief.

Her smile is crooked, ironic. "It was Éclair," she said softly.

"Éclair Tonnere?" Mori is amazed. "But that was months ago!"

She sighs again and finally lifts her head. Shifting into the light, she moves so she can see them both. There is shredded cardboard in her hands. One destroyed box lies behind her. "Romantic feelings are fragile," she says softly. "All it would take is one word, a moment of careless, stupidity, and everything will shatter and break. Love…" She feels stupid for speaking so sentimentally, but continues in a dogged attempt to make herself understood, "is beautiful, but it is also extreme. It can be extremely beautiful, and extremely ugly."

"What Éclair felt for Tamaki wasn't love," Mori reasons. "It was possession. She wanted to own him."

"She was in love," Haruhi's motions are stiff. "She was in love with an idea, but it was love all the same."

"Lust," Hunny corrects, nestling his head into Usa-chan.

She considers him. "Perhaps." Letting the sprinkling of cardboard on her fingers fall to the floor, she rakes a hand through the curls of her wig. In seating, the bodice is tight and uncomfortable. "Friendship lasts longer," she says abruptly, but her voice is pleading for understanding.

"You're afraid," Hunny whispers. The light wavers as he hops off his box and he moves towards her. "It won't be like that for you, Haru-chan, can't you see?" Sitting on the box beside her, he takes her hand and gazes at her beseechingly, fingers moving in circles.

Mori moves as well. He takes her other hand and holds it firm in his grasp. "You don't see any other girls in your position, do you?"

Her mouth quirks in a wry smile. "I am the only poor girl in Ouran High School."

Hunny shifts closer, skin brushing against the stiff lace of Haruhi's dress. "But you are rich," he says to her. "In friends, in people who really, really like you."

She is aware, too aware, of Mori on the other side. Hunny and Mori are communicating almost wordlessly. As Hunny shifts closer, Mori echoes the action, until he cradles her, chest to her back. Hunny kneels before her.

They are eye to eye.

"Haruhi." Her name is said reverently, like a sacred prayer.

As Hunny moves closer, her eyes squeeze shut. "You aren't young at all," she says, the words sliding like lemon juice and wasabi on her tongue. "In fact, you're the oldest. You should understand best out of everyone what this whole mess will come to."

Everything from her tone to her stiff posture suggests her certain rejection. She is resigned, however, for she understands that they are stubborn.

"Nothing has to change, Haruhi," Mori murmurs in her ear. "Nothing at all."

"Say this is a game," Hunny says.

As he said, not so long ago, that it was not _just_ a game…

"I don't like being the prize." Haruhi's voice is cutting.

Hunny's eyes flash. At that moment, the torch falls to the ground with a clatter. "Shut up." And with the same startling suddenness, Hunny surges forward, his lips are firmly on hers. She tastes cream and strawberry.

It occurs to her that Hunny's hands are not small. Perhaps they are usually dwarfed by bigger objects: Usa-chan, platters of cake. But the fingers that glide along the silky material of her dress are long and knowing.

Mori, at her back, embraces her to him until his nose is pillowed at the crook of her neck. His lips part to press a kiss, warm and moist. She has a dim impression that Hunny's hands aren't just on her waist, and Mori's presence behind her isn't just that of a placeholder.

When Hunny draws away, she catches the faint shadow of his smile. Her breath comes out, shaky and staggered.

She hadn't been breathing before.

"Hunny-senpai—"

"Mitsukuni," he whispers.

Her eyes drop from his. "Mitsukuni."

He smiles. "Don't you understand now, Haruhi?"

Mori is still wrapped around her. "When you're very young," he whispers to her, "those trends that develop at that age continue until you're old and grey."

"We used to play a game," Hunny begins.

She snaps to a realisation. "Like the twins," she says numbly.

"A little." There is a moue to Hunny's mouth. "Very little," he adds.

"There is a saying," Mori continues, "that once you become nineteen, you'll be the same person that you are then for the rest of your life."

She contemplates these words. It is not a terrible thought. "Which is to say what?"

"Things change, but don't change." Hunny's clasp of her hand is now just a little damp. "We'll always be playing the same game, but the rules change over time."

Change. Distort. Mutate

Mature.

There is a silence for a long moment. Haruhi stares at him, a frown slowly settling on her face like a powdering of snow on a mild winter's night.

Images flash in her mind that possess the fleeting quality of snowflakes in sunlight. It is intangible, unrecapturable, beautiful and _unnatural_.

Haruhi shakes her head wordlessly.

Hunny's mouth open, as if to speak.

Outside, there is a bump, followed by a rustle of cloth.

Someone else has come.

Mori eases away from Haruhi. Hunny takes residence on the box opposite hers, crouching with his torch. His eyes glitter in the darkness.

Mere seconds later, Tamaki bursts in. His torch is brilliant with lights multicoloured rainbow. "Found you!" he says delightedly, as the door slams shut behind him with a bang.

He immediately takes a seat next to Haruhi, beaming. "So what have you all been doing while waiting for us?"

And there is a moment…

… a very important moment.

Haruhi turns her face away from the light, and looks down towards her feet. She stares at the shiny, polished leather of her black shoes. "Nothing," she says.

(for '_Nothing will come to nothing', _they understood)

"Nothing at all," she concludes.

"Nothing?" Tamaki is bewildered. "Is that even possible?"

Her eyes are still downcast, captured by the shadows.

"We were playing a game," Hunny pipes up, his voice shriller than usual and sweet like burnt sugar.

"I like games," Tamaki says eagerly. "Why did you stop?"

When Haruhi looks up again, her face is stoic once more. She has found white satin gloves in the pocket of her dress. She slips them on and finds they end at her elbows. "It was…" she begins, flounders, and then begins over, "specious," she says, "unconventional, baseless, and…" Finding that she herself is lost amidst the complex vocabulary overload flooding into her mind; "stupid," she concludes.

Understanding three words of four, and not really understanding two of three, Hunny's torch drops and abruptly blinks out.

Tamaki, however, has a steady grip on his torch. He waves it about madly, trying to communicate his confusion. "I want to know!" he wails.

"Truly," she says, "you don't."

Reaching out, she grips him by the hand and pulls him closer to her.

This has an instantaneous effect on Tamaki.

Her satin-gloved hand in his is cold and lax, as if the tension has sapped out after a while of overexertion.

His smile fades away as he looks towards Hunny and Mori, but his torch is weakening. Their faces are obscured by darkness, as is his.

Outside, the cloth rustles again.

The door opens.

The twins stumble in.

Tamaki's torch provides some illumination.

"Almost everyone is here," one twin says disappointedly. Whether it is Hikaru or Kaoru, no one can quite tell.

"Except for Kyouya," says the other.

Very soon after, however, before the door behind the twins is even shut, Kyouya climbs in. His torch is almost the length of an adult arm, and lights up the whole room as clearly as a light bulb screwed in the ceiling.

"I presume that is everyone," Kyouya says crisply as he dusts himself off.

"You followed us," the twins accuse, their eyes narrowing to slits.

Kyouya does not answer.

The twins think this means a 'yes'.

Somewhere between the flurry of lights blinking on from off, Tamaki and Haruhi's fingers detangle.

"You're having some problems with your costume, aren't you?" Tamaki says to Haruhi loudly.

She nods wordlessly.

He smiles, and adopts his usual histrionics. "It was fun while it lasted," he says, pouting. "Since you insist, you may change."

Almost heady with gratefulness, she waves a hasty farewell and clamours out of the storeroom.

There is a long silence.

Tamaki stands and straightens. Torchlight glints like a halo from his golden head.

Hunny's glare is belligerent.

Tamaki merely shrugs, an elegant, sleek movement. There is a faint smile playing on his lips, as though he is entertaining a thought too wonderful and satisfying to speak of.

The twins look from Tamaki, to Hunny, to Tamaki. They frown.

Kyouya breaks the silence. "We will be having lunch in approximately half and hour. I presume we will all be changing to more comfortable clothing…"

"I wouldn't bother Haruhi," Tamaki says. "Any of you."

"Include you, my lord?" Hikaru's tone is mocking.

"Of course." Tamaki shrugs, another terribly French movement.

"What happened," Kaoru demands flatly.

"I wouldn't know at all," Tamaki says, with a glance at Hunny and Mori. Now his voice is unmistakeably smug. He hooks thumbs against the lapels of his jacket. "This suit is terribly uncomfortable. I believe I will change."

Before anyone can stop him, Tamaki scrambles from the storeroom. He leaves the door open; velvet curtains swinging in his wake.

-

… _The heptagon, that is the Host Club… _

… _Of the many polygons it is lesser known… _

_…It is an anomaly… _

_The heptagon does not occur in nature. In truth, the heptagon shouldn't even exist as it does within the Host Club._

-

-

_AN: _

_Aaaaand… the story mutates. Again. You will tell me if things don't make sense, right:) As a clue, the major concept of this chapter revolves around this line of dialogue: _

"We'll always be playing the same game, but the rules change over time." _(Hunny)_

_Also, much apologies to LM Montgomery, for quoting from 'Anne of Green Gables' in a very unchristian work, but the idea just fit so well… (It is Miss Stacy's comment to Anne, that the person you are at nineteen is the person you will be for the rest of your life)._

_And Shakespeare: 'Nothing will come to nothing' is from King Lear. _

_Oh! And I keep on forgetting to mention this, but this story only follows the anime. I've read up to c35 or something of the manga, but it was last year, and I can't actually remember all that much of it. But particularly after finding out that _Yoji Enokido _worked on both UTENA and OURAN, (the former being my favourite anime of all time. Ouran is second, I think), I'm in hyper fangirl mode, which may explain why this story is getting twistier and more suggestive by the chapter. _

_Thanks to everyone reading, and super triple love for those who review!! Thank you very very much!!_

-


	6. Patterns

**Disclaimer**: _Bisco Hatori's genius. Leslie's ah… um. _

**Warning**: _P-O-L-Y-A-M-O-R-Y. One day. _

_The_ **rating** _is M, R_.

-

TESSELLATION

**_6 of ?_**

Chapter Six

Patterns

-

There are patterns to life: distinct forms to follow. Sometimes, the knowledge of this pattern is purely innate. Sometimes this pattern is enforced by rules, unspoken rules.

Of all people in Ouran High School, Fujioka Haruhi understands the way.

_One plus one is two, two plus one is three, three plus two is five… _

_Sn equals a outside of one plus r to the power of n, over one plus n… _

She understands that she is a commoner.

They are not.

They are irreprehensible.

She is not.

She understands that money may not be 'important', but it can buy practically anything save immortality, sincerity.

It can buy silence. It can buy ignorance. It is the commodity of selfishness.

She understands that when the patterns of life are broken, the consequences can be damning.

She knows they can afford such consequences.

She cannot.

-

Watching the sun sink further and further beneath the horizon is an experience like no other. In those moments, while she pauses mid-step to peer outside the windows of Ouran High School, Haruhi feels an aching hollowness at her heart.

A movement at the corner of her eye makes her turn, startled.

There is a rustle amidst the shadows. There is a figure in black. His robes are shades darker than the emerging night, but eventually through much squinting, Haruhi recognises him.

"Nekozawa-senpai?" she says, surprised. "Why are you here at school so late?"

"Why are you here?" Nekozawa's voice emerges belligerently from black swathes of cloth.

"It is Valentines Day tomorrow," she explains, "and there is a lot to do."

"Valentines Day." The words are hesitant. "Valentines Day."

Haruhi nods. "We ran out of red paint, so I had fetch some," she says. "I should get back," she adds, gesturing to the darkness beyond. She begins to walk.

"I bet you'll be getting a lot of Valentines chocolate." Nekozawa is trailing beside her glumly, clutching Bereznoff.

Haruhi quickens her pace. For some reason, she dislikes this subject. "Perhaps," she says vaguely.

"But…" Here, Nekozawa runs in front of her, stopping her progress. "I think that even a male like you could do with a little assistance from the Black Magic Club!"

Haruhi blinks at the suddenness of his pitch. Recovering, she shakes her head and continues walking. "I don't think so."

"Now, Haruhi-kun," Nekozawa crab-walks backwards. "I have spells here that will make you desirable to your one true love!" He holds up a black object radiating waves of ominous promise.

"I don't think so," Haruhi says again slowly, not pausing.

"Then perhaps, a spell to help you find your one true love!" Nekozawa nods, and proffers Bereznoff, who holds onto a strangely innocent looking white badge. "This is a bargain, at just 100 yen. What do you say?"

Haruhi is firm, but wary. "I'm sorry, Nekozawa-senpai, but no."

But try as she might, she simply cannot shake off Nekozawa. As she enters the Third Music Room, Nekozawa waltzes in after her. Finally, he detaches from Haruhi to coerce new victims, namely the other members of the Host Club, who prove strangely susceptible.

Haruhi mentally hammers her head against the wall as the Host Club members, even Kyouya, gather around Nekozawa as he hawks his wares.

"So how does the badge work, Neko-chan?" Hunny chirps, as he considers the white badge with a wide-eyed gaze.

Nekozawa is eager to demonstrate. "You pin it to your blazer pocket, like so," he says, carefully exaggerating your movements. "And when you're around your true love, the badge will become hot, and it will turn red."

"It is white," observes Mori.

"Of course." Nekozawa nods. "My true love is not nearby."

A chorus of ooohs and aaahhs greet this statement.

"One hundred yen is a small price to pay for self realisation," Nekozawa continues very solemnly.

Tamaki sweeps into the inner circle in one grand step. "I agree," he declares in extravagant tones. "Which is why I, for one, believe that we should all own this miraculous device."

Haruhi chokes.

The rest of the host club is strangely silent.

The twins are first to extend their money, and receive shiny plastic-wrapped badges in return. These badges are unwrapped and pinned on in simultaneous movements. They lie docile and white against the maroon material of their blazer.

Haruhi finds just enough change in her school satchel. She reluctantly tears the plastic wrapping from her new badge.

Meanwhile, Nekozawa is too overcome with the joy of actually making sales to notice the odd hum of tension in the music room.

Kyouya is last to pin his badge on.

There is a silence as everyone considers one another. Haruhi is the one to break the silence. "We still have half the room to paint," she says, her voice flat in the quiet. "If we don't finish soon, we'll be stuck here all night."

The badges are starkly, starkly white.

"I forgot to say," Nekozawa emerges from his elated state. "The badges take a few hours to activate; to familiarise with your soul essence."

For a long moment, it seems as though everyone is frozen. Nekozawa, finally sensitive to the strained vibes hovering in the air, quickly excuses himself. He darts out of the music room, cackling.

"Paint, you said," says Mori, his voice soft.

"Let's all help Haru-chan!" Hunny bounces over to Haruhi, paintbrush in hand.

For now, the disaster is temporarily diverted.

Kyouya's brow is furrowed.

-

Kasanoda Ritsu wakes at dawn to serenade one Fujioka Haruhi on Valentines Day. He barely concludes his first heart-felt verse when the apartment door flings open. A bleary, barely awake middle-aged man glowers from the doorway.

"Who are you?" he growls.

"Kasanoda Ritsu," Kasanoda stammers. "I'm here for…"

"My daughter." The man rakes a hand tipped with red talons through his hair. "I heard." He grimaces. "You're another one."

Baffled by the man's manicure, Kasanoda can only stare.

"Call me Ranka," the man mutters. "Come in. Haruhi is getting ready for school."

Kasanoda shuffles in hesitantly, clutching his bouquet of a dozen fragrant red roses, bobbling heads as big as a fist. Ranka ushers him to the small table at the centre of the room just nearby the doorway.

"You do know that Valentines Day is a day when girls are meant to give presents to boys, not the other way around?" Ranka says gruffly, after a long silence.

Kasanoda nods.

"Then why the roses and the song?"

Everything had made sense to Kasanoda a month ago, when he began to plan for this day. Now he is utterly at loss for words. However, his hopeless expression seems to be telling to Ranka, who nods and sips his tea.

"Every day is a special day, sir," Kasanoda finally manages to say weakly.

"You don't sing half badly," Ranka says dryly, "and you look like a decent type of man."

Kasanoda allows himself a little optimism.

"Don't think I approve," Ranka continues. His severe tone dashes Kasanoda's hopes. "I don't. I just happen to like the brand of chocolates you bought." With that said, he extends an arm to pluck the box of chocolates beside Kasanoda. Opening the box in one swift moment, he happily helps himself to the biggest chocolate inside.

Haruhi emerges from the small bathroom not long afterwards, running a brush through her hair while shouldering her satchel. She considers Kasanoda absently as she gulps down a mouthful of bread and a swallow of tea. Her gaze turns to her father, who is happily devouring a fourth chocolate.

"He likes that brand," she says to Kasanoda, who looks as though he's swallowed a toad.

Fed and ready, Haruhi politely offers to walk with Kasanoda to school. Kasanoda accepts. When he proffers the bouquet of roses to her, she immediately hands them over to Ranka.

"He likes roses, too," she says.

Kasanoda fidgets. After several garbled, incoherent attempts, he finally manages to link words into a sentence. "They're for you."

She blinks. "It's Valentines Day," she says slowly. "Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

Kasanoda purples so rapidly that even Ranka spares a pause from gobbling chocolates to look slightly concerned. Haruhi, though at her most stoic, is hit with a pang of guilt.

"In that case, I've got something for you," she mutters hastily. Shaking out her satchel, she produces two boxes: one light brown, one dark brown. To Ranka, she gives the dark brown box. To Kasanoda, she gives the light brown box.

Ranka's box, Kasanoda notes dismally, is substantially bigger than his own. Upon untying the white plastic ribbon, Kasanoda uncovers the chocolates inside.

He turns to Haruhi, who is stacking six identical light brown boxes neatly into a sack. This, she places into her satchel. Catching his gaze, she shoulders her satchel. "Happy Valentines Day," she says.

"Thank you," Kasanoda mumbles.

Haruhi shrugs her satchel higher. "We should start walking to school," she says.

-

At approximately two fifty, Haruhi staggers through the door of the Third Music Room. She totes a large box overfull with rainbow boxes of chocolate, plush hearts, flowers, singing cards…

Tamaki stares at the overflowing box. How many Valentines are there in that box, he wonders. Ten… sixteen… twenty five…

As for Tamaki, he has…

Less.

He instantly flees to the corner of woe.

"That isn't all mine," Haruhi says flatly, following Tamaki's expressively doleful step-by-step realisation.

Tamaki perks up. "Oh?"

"Most of it belongs to the twins." Haruhi carefully begins to lift out items one by one, sorting things into two piles. "They weren't in class today."

Tamaki instantly becomes more interested a particular spot on the wall. "How strange," he says blandly.

Haruhi continues to sort the items. Who is supposed to receive what is fairly clear. The twins' Valentines come in sets of identical two.

"Haruhi!" Tamaki suddenly bounces up.

Haruhi considers him warily.

"Guess what? My badge just turned red!" Tamaki unbuttons his blazer partially to reveal the badge, which he has pinned on his shirt pocket.

"It reacts to heat," Haruhi says. "I stuck mine in hot water last night." She pulls the said badge from her pocket. The little circle is fire-truck red. "It has been like that ever since."

Tamaki wibbles. His bottom lip begins to quiver.

Haruhi's head tilts ever so slightly as she examines Tamaki's badge. Her brow furrows slightly before she comes to a conclusion. "You've contaminated your results, Tamaki-senpai."

Guilty as charged, Tamaki retreats back into his corner of woe.

Haruhi returns back to methodically sorting out the presents.

Nearby, Mori and Hunny are confronted with a canned something. The gossamer and satin wrappings, as well as the little pink card addressed to 'Dearest, dearest Hunny-senpai' lay scattered on the floor.

"It sounds like cake," says Hunny as he experimentally shakes it.

Mori sits in a somewhat agreeable silence.

"It is cake." Hunny's eyes glaze over. He clutches Usa-chan. "And it must be a special cake," he murmurs in revelatory tones, "If it comes in a can."

And so, one thing leads to another, and that other thing leads to Mori wandering over to the storeroom with the aim of retrieving a can-opener. The door is locked. Mori looks down to find the storeroom keys on the floor nearby.

Mori opens to door to be barrelled over by a pair of twins. Their eyes gleam green with indescribable vindictiveness.

He stares after them, flabbergasted.

The twins stroll over to Haruhi, hands in pockets.

"Happy Valentines Day, Haruhi," they chorus in flat unison.

Haruhi places the last parcel in the box and pushes it towards them. "These are yours."

"Yes," they say. "We weren't in class."

Their eyes swivel towards a cowering Tamaki, and then to the expressionless Haruhi. They smile ferociously.

"No matter," Hikaru says smoothly, waving away the boxes of presents. He fixes an intent gaze upon Haruhi. "What is important is… what have you got for us?"

"Presents? From Haru-chan?" Hunny bounces over at once, his can of cake forgotten. "You've got presents, Haru-chan?" His little-boy eyes laugh up at her.

Haruhi, however, is implacable today. "Of course," she says calmly. "I got presents for everyone… including my father, Kasanoda-kun…"

"Kasanoda-kun?" Hunny chirrups, a pucker in his brow.

"He came over this morning." Haruhi shrugs. She doles out the presents with flat efficiency. Her timing is so exact, that the moment the last box is given to Kyouya, it is time to open the Host Club. Everyone rushes to dress up in their costumes – today, the theme is fairytale prince, complete with brandishing swords, heartfelt lyre-accompanied warbling and fantastically slain dragons.

The doors fling open.

The onslaught begins.

-

Haruhi is starting to lose track of all the girls.

There are girls everywhere in the Third Music Room. Laughing, shrieking, swooning, sighing, staring, glaring, bawling…

Somehow, she's stuck with the bawling one. Aoyama Yuki cries copiously amidst floods of tissue. She has recently broken up with her boyfriend. She is wanting for company and inconsolable. Haruhi can't get a word in amidst Yuki's sobs. Instead, she silently hands tissue after tissue. Occasionally, she makes a comforting noise.

Oh, Valentine's Day.

Nearby, the twins enact their prelude to a very smutty Valentine. Gazes locked, Hikaru wordlessly brushes a luridly red rose across Kaoru's cheek. As for Kaoru, he is flushed and bright-eyed, trembling theatrically in his brother's rapt attention.

Around them, their observers are also trembling. They quiver of expectant tippy toes, hands touched to tremulous mouths.

"They are so…"

"…. Moe…"

At the front, a girl with a big red bow in her hair faints.

No one notices.

Elsewhere, Hunny eats cake.

A lot of cake.

Usa-chan flops.

Mori is attentive.

The shota fans hover around, bearing enormous pink cake boxes radiating with sweet aroma.

Honey receives each one with an icing-sticky smile, his eyes shimmering with delight. "I LOVE Valentines Day," he proclaims blissfully, upon beholding the tower of cake before him.

Not far away, by the window looking out to the school gardens, Tamaki bathes in the radiance of the mid-afternoon sun. A longhaired lovely is captured in his rapturous embrace, melting under the beauty of his Princely gaze.

He proffers to her a long-stemmed red rose. She accepts dazedly, overwhelmed.

"Oh, Tamaki-kun," she breathes, inhaling its sweet scent. "It is beautiful."

"Yet no rose can compare to your incandescent beauty," Tamaki murmurs in her ear.

She blushes prettily pink and swoons in his arms.

Kyouya, who lurks nearby, scribbles in his notepad. He is absorbed in his work, but not even the Shadow King can deter intent hearts on Valentines Day.

A pig-tailed girl approaches, bearing a pink box of chocolates. She considers him with lovesick eyes, and hesitantly edges closer.

"K-k-kyouya-senpai," she stutters.

He looks up from his notepad and automatically smiles. "Hello."

"Happy Valentines Day, Kyouya-senpai!" She proffers her chocolate and bows at the same time.

He looks at the box. He looks to her. "Thank you," he says.

"Thank you!" she replies at once, tomato red.

Weak at knees, she wobbles away.

Kyouya returns to his notepad. The chocolates are forgotten.

Haruhi is still comforting the traumatised Aoyama Yuki. The routine has not changed.

Yuki weeps.

Haruhi hands her a tissue.

Yuki hiccups and blows her nose.

And so ends the pristine life of yet another piece of tissue…

Perhaps Haruhi should have foreseen the situation that was to inevitably happen. Upon digging into the tissue box for the umpteenth time, her fingers scrape upon cardboard and empty air.

Haruhi freezes.

Yuki sobs.

Haruhi bites her bottom lip. Inadvertently, her eyes wander to the storeroom door.

Fate is cruel, she decides, as she dismally clutches on the empty tissue box. Her mind is lurching at what to do next.

"Haruhi-kun?" Yuki's tear-blurred voice wavers.

Haruhi wonders momentarily at the sudden onslaught of queasy illness. Her palms are damp, and her cheeks have become pink. Her throat is dry. It could be a cold, she thinks.

"Tissues, of course," she says blankly. "I must go get some. Will you be alright by yourself, Aoyama-san?"

"I—don't—know…" Yuki mumbles.

Clearly, the task cannot be avoided. Haruhi is determined to be as blasé as possible. In a normal pace, with a normal countenance, she heads over to the storeroom.

(_There are patterns in life_)

She already knows what will happen.

Just seconds after she enters the room, the door slams shut.

Haruhi is greeted by the earth-shattering sound of fifty plates breaking.

-

The twins enticed in the darkness, Tamaki charmed with fairy lights; and Mori and Hunny seduced in torchlight.

It would be Kyouya's turn.

The lights flood on.

"Fujioka," he sighs, "I should have known it was you."

She watches as he scribbles on his notepad, torn between mortification, irritation and bemusement. "What did I do?" she asks warily.

"Heritage Wedgwood," he says matter-of-factly, "Circa 1920. That little accident just added a further 600000 yen to your debt."

"Six hundred thousand?" Haruhi feels faint. Anger is beginning to overwhelm her sense. Damn rich bastards, she thought to herself.

It occurs to her that the entire situation is most likely a set up.

She grits her teeth.

"This is a pity," Kyouya murmurs. "The grand total for your debt had almost reached five figures."

Haruhi closes her eyes and breathes deeply to calm herself. "Tissue," she says tonelessly, upon recovering her composure. "I came here for tissue."

"You really shouldn't be coming here at all," he replies.

"And you made me break all those plates to prove that point?" Haruhi snaps at him. "I don't come here by choice. I tried to avoid it."

"If it wasn't me here," Kyouya begins to say.

"I wouldn't have broken these plates." Haruhi finishes. She is angry. Her movements are halted as she takes a box of tissues from the middle shelf.

When she turns around, she finds herself pinned. Kyouya leans into her, their lips a whisper apart. One hand is palm-down against a shelf edge. The other grips her arm a little tighter than necessary.

"Our profits are down," he tells her lowly. "Everyone's under performing, and we both know why."

She turns her head to face away from him. "Well," she says evenly. "You clearly have a preferred solution in mind."

His lips brush her ear. "You're a very greedy girl, to want us all."

"You're disgusting," she says coldly. "I don't want to lose our friendship." She adds a correction.

His hand spans at her waist, his fingers slightly caress the vertical curve. "Does this feel very friendly?" he drawls in velvet tones.

She wrenches his hand away. "When you're not being an idiot, we are friends," she says sharply. "We're good friends, and you are a good person."

There is a plea to her tone: _be a good person now. _

And he ignores it. He presses closer. He traces the down the knobs of her spine, the little linear bumps, one by one. He does it ever so slowly. She shivers in his embrace. His breath warms her ear.

She is warm, already; too warm, perhaps.

"Problems exist, and persist, until they are solved," he murmurs. His fingers linger at the small of her back. "Let's not harbour delusions, Fujioka. There is only one solution here. You have to choose among us. One, or two, as some of us come in pairs."

She stills.

_Life operates in patterns. _

She thinks.

_Conformity is a pattern. _

"But you're a conformist, aren't you, Fujioka?"

_And the heptagon… _

"I'd say you're monogamous."

_Does not tessellate. _

"You would choose… Tamaki."

_And of all the polygons… _

"Perhaps, you already have."

_It is an anomaly. _

"Don't be so presumptuous," she says very harshly, immediately. Her tone is harsher, perhaps, because she hates being thought of as so predictable.

She now knows she is.

"I don't want to be forced into hasty decisions," she continues (_not defensively_) "I don't want choose wrongly, because this will change everything, you know. Have you ever thought of what would happen if everything just went wrong?"

"You're old enough to handle the consequences of your decisions," he replies. "All decisions have consequences. And you can't avoid making decisions. You've already made the wrong one, trying to maintain the status quo."

He is right, she thinks bitterly, but she has to refuse to admit it. She avoids his eyes, and moves her arm to block his torso and push him away.

"I know certainly I wouldn't choose you," she says with deliberate spite.

His smile at this is very dark.

She knows this, because she is compelled to look up and catch his reaction. And he catches her gaze. His eyes lock on hers. He extends a languid finger and gently tilts her chin upwards. "Who says I'm even giving you a choice?" he whispers.

"You said," she begins heatedly. He silences her with a kiss.

It is an open-mouthed kiss, and he tastes of orange and pepper. He is so warm, and his touches are even warmer. One arm is wrapped around her waist, and the other trails down her side slowly. The stiff material of his jacket sleeve rasps against the cotton of her shirt. The sound is so strangely loud, she thinks.

And just as abruptly as it begins, it ends. He lets her go. They both are breathless.

She recovers quickly. Her stoic farce falls in place, and it would seem as though she is unfazed—save a lingering gesture where she tucks stray short strands of hair behind her ear, as though she is reminiscing over times of greater femininity.

"You want to force me," she says flatly.

"Persuade," he corrects. "I can be very persuasive," he says.

"Presumptuous," she counters. "I'd hardly be deciding now, on the spot. Now is too soon."

"Not soon enough," he says. "You must already see how things are changing."

Her mind drifts to the twins stalking out of the storeroom just over an hour ago, and Tamaki's guiltily smug reaction to their glowering. Her mind jumps to Kyouya, standing silently before. The Shadow King to Tamaki's self-appointed Overlord to All, she realises that their relationship has changed. Though they had always been individuals in the Host Club, there had always existed a sort of inexplicable, compulsive relationship that drew the two together like opposite magnetic poles.

In his own way, Tamaki depended so much on Kyouya. Lately, that was happening a lot less. Haruhi missed the frequent reference to the Host Club family: Tamaki's wails for 'Mother' help all the time. It still happened, but less.

When and how did this all change?

Haruhi cannot think herself out of the problem, so she decides to ignore it altogether. "If," she begins in steadier tones. Kyouya looks to her grimly. "If we all tried to stay at the same place, nothing would have to change," she says.

"That's impossible," he says simply, bluntly.

Haruhi doesn't exactly understand why this statement is so alarming. Perhaps it is Kyouya's implacable expression, or the immediate delivery of his response. But something inside her churns at once. A queasiness crawls through her, She feels herself pale—the blood just rushes from her head—and she finds herself saying in frustrated hopelessness: "This is hugely your fault."

Kyouya replies, "I know."

Stunned by his admittance, Haruhi does the only thing she can. She clutches to the box of tissues and makes a hasty exit from the storeroom.

-

_A regular heptagon has seven sides, seven corners and fourteen diagonals._

_And that is all. Any more or less of one and it would no longer be a heptagon._

_Kyouya, the Shadow King, understands well. _

_Calculation is to mathematics, as ruthlessness is to winning._

-

_A/N: This is after more than half a year. I apologise. I've recently started university, and things have been really hectic. I was working on Tessellation on and off, but nothing I wrote sounded right._

_Just a question, am I the only one who thinks continuing someone else's supposedly abandoned fanfic, without explicit permission—said fanfic is abandoned—is completely not okay? The wtf-ery is here: net/s/1743952/1/AsDeclaredByFate (the original, just add the usual www.fanfiction to it) and this: .net/s/4385900/1/AsDeclaredByFate. The latter doesn't even mention that the work isn't original until chapter 4, and doesn't mention who originally wrote it until chapter 9. The original was one of my favourite guilty-pleasure fanfics; so I got kinda, um, mad. But according to the latter's readers, I'm an evil fun-buster._

_In reflection, a month later, I suspect I was a tad too forceful in trying to lay down exactly why I found the latter work to be highly offensive and improper. But I will state now, bluntly, the latter writer is a plagiariser. I would be grateful if some of you guys with a cooler head than me could try explaining to the latter writer why doing what she has done is unacceptable, and report the story if necessary. This site's admin is terrible when it comes to processing complaints, but if more people report, there's more attention to the matter, right?_

_Thanks! This chapter was difficult to write. I hope the next chapter comes more easily, but I can't guarantee much. Thank you to everyone who left such encouraging reviews for chapter 5. _

-


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